FRANK VICTOR

A FRANK RECORD

Swing Music, June 1935 (transcribed)

By B. M. Lyton-Edwards

 When Eddie Lang placed his guitar in Frank Victor’s hands, saying, “Come on, I’ll show you how to play it,” neither could have foreseen the ultimate effects the offer was to have. For, as Frank himself related, the beauty evoked by his fingers as they touched the strings of Eddie’s instrument got right into his heart, and he was a guitarist from that day onwards. “Eddie taught me everything about the guitar,” is Frank’s boast.

With such a foundation, it seems natural today to find Frank Victor holding the most coveted guitar job in the dance world with Joe Venuti. In listing the personnel of the new Blue Four combination, one might be excused for adding after his name. “By arrangement with Eddie Lang.”

For all his fervent admiration of Lang, Frank is no mere slavish imitator, being a firm believer in the principle that every musician should strive unceasingly after originality and develop an original style. Yet, though he gives his imagination and invention full rein when playing current numbers or his own clever compositions, he would consider it little short of sacrilege to make any variation in work originally created by Eddie. In this respect, he thoroughly displayed his talent and good taste on the brief occasion of his appearance with Venuti at the Palladium, and those fortunate enough to hear him were unanimous in his praise.

Frank Victor (Viggiana to the Passport Office) (sic=Viggiano) was born in Germantown, a suburb of Philadelphia, and claims it is the deadest town in the U.S. Even if, as he avers, they do “pull in the sidewalks on Sundays’ at least the Quaker City can be said to have done right by Rhythm, Frank being the third “Duce of Dance” to hail from there. As might be expected, Venuti and Lang are the other two.

Frank makes no pretense to descent from a line of musicians but confesses that the younger members of the family had “musical aspirations.” His two brothers, while still in their teens, were featured with their mandolins in a small semi-pro outfit that tinkled accompaniment to Italian weddings and like fierce debaucheries. Frank was seized with a longing to do a little tinkling on his own account and on his mandolin, but Papa V. had other views. Frank’s brothers, though famed and esteemed for the vitality of their Finiculi (sic=Funiculi) in home circles yet did not earn enough out of their music to bring home the bacon or even an ell or so of spaghetti. Frank’s own musical aspirations were not encouraged, and apprentices were needed at a large tailoring factory.

To please Papa, Frank stuck to the uncongenial job for two years. “I was turned loose on collars when I went in; I could ruin collars when I came out!” he said. The refunds for all the spoilt material on which he had wielded his unstable shears more than absorbed the wages he received. Papa was not pleased; in fact, he was downright ungrateful and announced that “musical aspirations” could henceforth be indulged. He did not expect an income to result but reasoned that less outlay would be involved.

Frank quickly landed a job with Eddie Leonard’s Minstrel Show, a well-known touring organization. He celebrated his release by running through the lines of machinery at the factory, whooping to his prosaic companions: “I’m an actor! I'm an actor!”

He was. The troupe enlivened every tank town from Maine to Frisco during the next three years. Frank, complete with wanderlust, enjoyed the experience, the traveling, and the hard work. But at last, the effort of washing black off of his face three times daily palled, and he decided to migrate to New York.

It was about the time that Eddie and Joe hit town, and musical circles went wild about them. Frank, by this time, was strumming a very efficient banjo, the orthodox fretted instrument member of the rhythm section, but already beginning to give way to the guitar, with which Eddie Lang was opening the eyes and ears of the leaders. Frank was amazed at Lang’s work and tells, without shame, that when he first heard his “pulled-string” effect on a record, he attributed it to a clarinet, never having heard anything similar from a guitar.

It is almost impossible to talk shop to Frank Victor without Eddie Lang’s name recurring constantly. He does not merely express his admiration; he explains it. He takes pains to spread his conviction that Eddie was a great musician and that he virtually founded an Art in Industry. The guitar, through his initial efforts, had grown to be indispensable to the modern dance band, while the instrument itself, formerly small and confined, is now physically robust and well-fitted to cope with the demands made upon it. Frank also points out that not only do enthusiasts owe homage to Lang for his genius, but manufacturers and guitarists are indebted to his influence for the high prices commanded today by the instruments and their players.

Frank is less communicative about his own work, though this modest young man ranks far higher than he would have you believe. A pioneer of dance-band guitar playing, he is in charge of the “Guitar Queries” Department of American Metronome, and controls the Radio City Guitar Studio, where he trains a large and growing number of capable pupils.

His other activities include the writing of a series of instructive works on guitar playing and the composition of several delightful solos: Guitar in Blue, Frets and Strings, Black Eyes, Just Drifting, and Stringin’ Along with Annabelle. One of these is privately dedicated to Eddie Lang, though you can search in vain on the music for any indication; the composer had no wish to appear to be inviting publicity.

Frank is also the inventor of a new and simplified form of guitar music, setting his diagrams right in the notation instead of above the notes as in uke music.

His personal qualities are unique in a musician. He is positively the only maestro to make an appointment for 11 a.m. who did not confuse it with p.m., and was discovered mentally alert, with pencil, paper, cigarettes, and ashtray spread ready for his dumbfounded interviewer.

He is quiet, unaffected, and, beyond everything, devastatingly frank. Trots out thoughtful opinions, what he means, and not what you expect him to say. Would rather play in private than to an audience. Deplores the worship of musical “names” in England because they have cropped up more frequently than others, less known but more gifted, several of such “heroes” being no great shakes in their home pastures. His esteem for Venuti is equaled only by his enthusiasm for Lang; “Joe,” he said, “is the biggest of the big,” and his gravity was such as to preclude any crack about the Venuti waistline.

It is certain, now that Frank has attracted the attention of the rhythm fans, that he will continue to hold it along with their admiration. The three records he made in England last year did not receive sufficient praise; on Tea Time he plays an excellent single-string solo, and in Hell’s Bells and Devil’s Holiday provides a resounding and steady rhythm.

Note: Joe Venuti plays the single-string guitar solo on Tea Time, not Frank Victor.

Apart from these and a few recordings for Blue Bird in America, the Venuti-Victor partnership “debuts” in the Brunswick list this month, and it is perfectly safe to predict a popular success of the ever-brilliant Joe and his accomplished satellites.

SOURCE: Swing Music, June 1935 by B. M. Lyton-Edwards.